


Pull the Trigger

by somewhereinnorthernitaly_1983



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucky Barnes's Trigger Words, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The First Avenger, Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Captain America: The First Avenger, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gay Bucky Barnes, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-World War II Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Queer Steve Rogers, Stucky - Freeform, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:53:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29303784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereinnorthernitaly_1983/pseuds/somewhereinnorthernitaly_1983
Summary: “Желание.” Longing.With that one word, Bucky felt his entire world crumple like a deck of cards. Whatever mental walls he had built up in the past two years between himself and HYDRA began to chip and splinter with every syllable out of the stranger’s mouth. That word—longing—struck him behind the eyes with every consonant, instantaneously flashing him back to a time long forgotten. He could barely get the word “no” out before submitting to the memory.Or, Bucky's trigger words are each tied to a memory of his and Steve's life together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	Pull the Trigger

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first time ever posting online, so please be kind :)
> 
> This fic is purely self-indulgent. I could never find any fics that went in-depth about Bucky's trigger words, so I decided to just write one myself. Main plot events are in regular font, and memories are blocked out in italics. I hope you enjoy!

“Желание.” _Longing_.

With that one word, Bucky felt his entire world crumple like a deck of cards. Whatever mental walls he had built up in the past two years between himself and HYDRA began to chip and splinter with every syllable out of the stranger’s mouth. That word— _longing_ —struck him behind the eyes with every consonant, instantaneously flashing him back to a time long forgotten. He could barely get the word “no” out before submitting to the memory.

***

_They were twenty-five and twenty-four in 1942, sitting on the roof of their apartment building, passing an opaque, rust-colored bottle between the two of them. Bucky had his legs hanging off the edge, dangling seven stories above the heads of men walking home from work and mothers going to and from the park with children in tow. Steve sat next to him, their thighs pressed together, shoulders brushing affectionately. The sun had sunk low in the sky, hiding behind the Brooklyn bridge and casting golden beams of light through the air. Steve’s hair had shone that day, and Bucky found himself enraptured by the man sitting next to him. His draft card was crumpled in his right hand, sweat smearing the ink. Tears played at the corners of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall; he refused to let anything ruin what might be his last moment with Steve._

_“I’m gonna come back, you know—” Bucky started, voice cracking with the effort._

_“You can’t promise stuff like that, Buck,” Steve stopped him. He was staring pointedly at his knees._

_“Hey, look at me,” Bucky tilted forward, forcing himself into Steve’s peripheral. Nothing. Bucky brought a hand under Steve’s chin, lightly guiding his head up and to the side so that blue eyes met grey. Bucky would never forget how blue Steve’s eyes were._

_“I’m gonna come back,” he said, declarative, firm. There was no waver in his voice, no hint of doubt despite the blaring alarms that seemed to have been going off in his brain since that card came in the mail. Steve’s eyes were glistening with tears as he flung his arms around Bucky’s neck, practically knocking them off the ledge they were perched on. Bucky didn’t care. He just returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist and pulling him in close. One arm rubbed his back while the other ran through Steve’s hair, reveling in the soft, golden strands. Bucky whispered meaningless words of reassurance into Steve’s temple, but the other man was silent except for a few broken sobs that he muffled with Bucky’s shoulder._

_When the two reluctantly pulled apart, Steve’s eyes were red and swollen, and Bucky’s face was pulled into a tight grin that was more like a grimace._

_“It’s gonna be okay, Steve,” he said comfortingly. Steve didn’t believe it for a second, so he just nodded and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Bucky was still here, and he could already feel his heart longing for the other man._

_“I love you, ya jerk,” Steve said, bumping Bucky’s shoulder playfully._

_“I love you, too, punk.”_

***

“Pжавые.” _Rusted_.

The stranger’s voice snapped Bucky back, if only for a second. His head lolled back, mouth forming the word “stop” with shaking lips before he is thrown into another memory.

***

_The rust flaked away beneath his fingertips as he gripped the iron railing of the fire escape. Steve stood with his back leaning against the cool metal, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a steaming mug clutched shakily in his hands. Bucky had been standing outside for a few minutes, getting some fresh air, when Steve had crawled out the window and joined him in the freezing cold to offer him a cup of coffee._

_“Jesus, Steve, it’s freezing out here. Get back inside,” Bucky had scolded, but Steve only gestured to the threadbare blanket over his back and shrugged. Bucky knew there was no point in arguing. Steve was as stubborn as they came._

_“You looked lonely out here,” Steve said nonchalantly. “Figured you could use some company.”_

_Bucky rubbed another patch of rust away before removing his hands altogether and turning to face Steve. The other man’s nose had already gone red with cold, and he could see a slight shiver run through his thin frame._

_“Oh my god, come here,” Bucky said, pulling Steve close so they were leaning together, Steve’s head resting on his shoulder and Bucky’s arms around his waist in a sideways hug. Bucky nuzzled his face into Steve’s neck, breathing in the smell of soap and aftershave. He must have just gotten out of the shower. Steve hummed contentedly when Bucky breathed warm air on his neck, leaning further against the man._

_“Hmm, I could get used to this,” Steve sighed, turning his head to face Bucky. Bucky just placed his hand under Steve’s chin, tilting his head up to capture his lips in a warm kiss that tasted of coffee and cold air._

***

“Семнадцать.” _Seventeen_.

Bucky’s head cleared momentarily, paving the way for a rush of anger to flood his system. His metal hand tightened into a fist, gears whirring and straining against the steel restraints that held him down. His voice came out stronger this time.

“Stop,” he growled, brow furrowed in rage. But it was too late. The room was already dissolving into the past.

***

_Steve had gotten in a fight. Again. He was only sixteen, a year younger than Bucky, and already was acting like an idiot._

_Bucky had found him slouched in the corner of the school courtyard, a cut on his temple gushing blood down the side of his face and matting into his hair. Bucky had been talking with a teacher about making up a test and hadn’t been there for the fight, but he said a silent thank you to every god he knew that Steve was still alive and breathing. Normally they would meet by the flagpole every day after school to walk home together, but Steve had been nowhere in sight, and Bucky knew that could only mean one thing._

_When he bent down to pick him up, Steve had mumbled something like, “he grabbed her under the skirt” before he lost consciousness completely. Bucky had had to half-drag, half-carry Steve the ten blocks and five flights of stairs back to Steve’s apartment. Sarah was out for the day—thank God—and they had the place to themselves. Now, Steve was awake and propped up on the toilet seat with Bucky gently dabbing his face with a wet washcloth._

_“What were you thinking Stevie?” Bucky said through gritted teeth. Seeing Steve like this always sent a bolt of anger down his spine. “You could have gotten yourself killed!”_

_“They had it coming, Bucky. You should have seen how hard Jack Mulligan grabbed her.”_

_“Yeah, Steve, I get that. But three against one ain’t exactly fair odds, and you’re in no condition to be pulling stuff like this. I thought I told you that Jack and his friends were off limits. They’re on the football team, for Christ’s sake.”_

_At that, Steve hung his head, tears forming in his eyes. He hated being reminded that he was different than everyone else, incapable, handicapped. At least when he was picking a fight, he could pretend for just a second that he was any other guy. Tough, brave. A hero…_

_“Look, Stevie, I’m sorry. I’m just worried, is all,” Bucky rinsed the washcloth in the sink, watching the pink water run down the drain. “I don’t like to see you hurt.”_

_Steve was silent. He just watched Bucky’s hands as they wrung out the towel and returned to his face. If he was completely honest with himself, these intimate moments with Bucky almost made getting the life beat out of him worth it. Bucky was tough by nature. He liked to roughhouse with other boys after school, and he always greeted people with a smack on the back and a “how you doin’, man,” a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. But with Steve, he was never anything but gentle. He even smoked less around him. When Steve got hurt or sick, Bucky would sit next to him, running his hands over wherever it hurt the most, applying cool compresses to his forehead and massaging aches out of his muscles and bones._

_But, if you asked Bucky, he would have something very different to say. Sure, any chance to touch Steve like this was a golden opportunity that he took with vigor, but he hated how it made him feel. Not only was he terrified—of losing Steve, of hurting him—but a small part of him found himself savoring these moments when he could cup Steve’s jaw without his hand being pushed away. When he could run his fingers through his hair and not get a withering gaze in response. Bucky knew these feelings weren’t normal—that they were in fact illegal—but he had been dealing with them for so long that he had learned to push them down. Ignore the way Steve watched him work, blue eyes seeing everything. Ignore the feeling of Steve’s knees brushing against his own almost voluntarily. Bucky had gotten used to denying his feelings; but today was different._

_Today, Steve hadn’t woken up the entire way home, and Bucky had had to stop every block to check if he was still breathing. Once back in the apartment, Bucky had had to splash his face with ice cold water before he had slowly opened his eyes to the bright lights of the bathroom. Bucky had never been so afraid in his life, and for once, he was too occupied to worry about what the rest of the world might think about his feelings._

_“I thought I was gonna lose you today, Stevie,” Bucky said quietly, almost to himself. He was looking at the floor, too afraid to look Steve in the eyes._

_“I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t mean to scare you like that—”_

_“Yeah, but you did,” Bucky interrupted him, suddenly angry. “If you died, I don’t know what I would do with myself, Steve. You’re my best friend. I love you.” He said the words before he could even think about what he was doing. All the anger and fear and worry from the past five years of their friendship had come unbottled and Bucky let loose._

_“I know, Buck. I love you, too.”_

_“No, Steve,” Bucky sighed, finally looking his friend in the eyes. He might as well get this over with if he was really going to go there, and if this was the last time that he sees Steve, he wants to remember those eyes for the rest of his life. “I’m_ in love _with you.”_

_Steve just sat there, his mouth hanging slightly open as if he hadn’t heard a thing. Bucky resolved himself to leaving, figuring that Steve was too disgusted to even talk to him, before he felt a hand on his wrist, pulling him back._

_“Don’t go,” Steve said, almost too quiet to hear._

_“Wha—” Bucky managed to get out before Steve was on his feet, bloodied hands planted firmly on either side of Bucky’s face as he crashed their lips together. Bucky stood still as a post, forgetting himself entirely._ This can’t be happening _, he thought_. I’m dreaming. And if I’m dreaming, then I can do whatever the hell I want _. Bucky flew into action, hands finding Steve’s hips and pulling him infinitely closer. Steve moaned in approval when Bucky pushed a hand through his hair, pulling softly to tilt Steve’s head up and open his mouth so he could slip his tongue in. Bucky heard Steve gasp and smiled, finally pulling apart for air. Steve’s lips were swollen, and his cheeks were painted red. Bucky knew that he probably looked the same, but he didn’t care. All he cared about was that Steve loved him too, and there was nothing that could make him leave now. With a smile so wide his mouth hurt, Bucky leaned in for another kiss, for once unafraid of what might come next._

***

“Рассвет.” _Daybreak_.

The pain behind his eyes grew, engulfing his entire head in a cloud of enraging fog. Bucky didn’t know where this anger was coming from. Was he mad at the stranger for making him see these things, or was it the Soldier breaking down the walls in his mind? Bucky shot up straight, arching his back in pain, a strangled yell escaping his throat. The restraints holding his left arm down groaned before snapping off. With his metal arm free, Bucky fumbled with the bar on his right arm for a second before ripping it off as well. In the confusion, Bucky found the room dissolving, making way for beams of morning sunlight.

***

_They had forgotten to close the curtains last night, and the daybreak shone through their window and onto their sleeping faces. Bucky was always the first to wake up. He was a light sleeper, and these days with the war in Europe, he found that his mind raced too much to allow him a good night’s sleep. In the first moments after waking, Bucky took in the surroundings of his and Steve’s apartment. Bare walls, low ceilings, and dirty floors._ Home _. The sun in his eyes blinded him, but before he could bring a hand up to shield his eyes, he felt a familiar weight in his arms._

_Laying on top of his chest was the love of his life. Steve was the heaviest sleeper he had ever met, once managing to sleep through their trigger-happy neighbor firing a gun on the other side of their bedroom wall. Now, Steve had his face buried in Bucky’s neck, one arm seemingly crushed between their two bodies, the other one draped across Bucky’s stomach, holding him close. Steve was lightly snoring, nothing loud, just small honks of sound leaving his nose with every inhale. He had gotten in a scrape a few days ago outside the grocery store, and he had somehow walked away with only a broken nose and a few bruises. Now, breathing for him was a struggle not only because of his shitty lungs, but also because of the swollen, bruised lump that used to be his nose._

_Bucky smiled. He loved these mornings with Steve. Being able to hold his best friend in his arms without the weight of the world watching was the greatest feeling known to man. These days, he found his thoughts muddled with worry over the war. The image of that draft card arriving in the mail two days ago was permanently engraved in his mind. He hadn’t told Steve yet; didn’t want to put words to his feelings and, in some way, make them real. Whenever it all got to be too much, Bucky would just think of these moments and it would all fade away. Somehow, his Stevie was the only thing getting him through this mess._

_A bird chirped outside their window, and the sound must have gotten through Steve’s deep subconscious because the smaller man began to stir. Bucky ran a hand through his hair as Steve propped open a single blue eye._

_“Wha…” Steve mumbled groggily._

_“It was a just a bird, doll. Go back to sleep,” Bucky reassured him, kissing him on the forehead as Steve closed his eyes and resumed his snoring._

***

“Печь.” _Furnace_.

The stranger was circling him now, ready for the kill. Bucky slid out of his chair onto his knees and began beating against the plexiglass door that separated him from the room outside. His mind was so full of rage that he couldn’t even muster up the cognitive clarity to wonder what he was angry about anymore. His head throbbed as he was swept into another memory.

***

_Bucky had always pictured Italy as a kind of paradise. Valleys of grapevines and warm summers and Italian sodas on the beach. If he ever went to Italy, he thought it would be in the summer, on vacation. Never had he imagined that his one and only visit to the country would be spent freezing his balls off in an Army-issued tent on ground harder than his mother’s poor attempts at meatloaf. Each man was given a dark green canvas tent, big enough for a sleeping bag and maybe a backpack. But the sleeping bags were thin as fucking tissue paper, and blankets were hard to come by these days. The only way to get one now was to trade an entire carton of cigarettes for it—something that Bucky did not have. So, here he was, curled in the fetal position on a bed of freezing rocks, shaking like dice in a cup. The nights seemed to drag on, and Bucky found that he had lost track of how much sleep he had been getting (a hint: not fucking enough!)._

_It was one of these nights that Bucky decided: to hell with it all. He was a sharpshooter in the United States Army. He was responsible for having his men’s backs. If he couldn’t shoot straight because his eyes were drooping from exhaustion, then he was putting the entire team of Howling Commandos at risk. Without a moment’s hesitation, Bucky flung the flaps to his tent open, stepping out into the cool night air. If his teeth hadn’t been chattering in his skull, he might have been able to take a second and appreciate the beauty of Italy in the winter. The sky was pitch black, and with no lights around, there was an entire galaxy of stars above his head, blinking in and out of existence. The air was still and silent, not even an owl to be heard hooting in the night. Bucky trudged over to the tent next to his, the only one he would dare try something like this with. Pulling back the flap quietly, Bucky peered in to see Steve lying splayed out on the ground, arms crossed over his chest, sleeping peacefully._ Of course, that asshole is able to sleep in this weather _, Bucky thought to himself._ Before the serum, he could barely stop shivering in 90-degree heat, and now he looks like he’s sleeping in a bed at the Ritz _._

_“Hey! Steve,” Bucky whispered, trying to wake his friend as gently as possible. Steve didn’t move._ Still as heavy of a sleeper, then _. Bucky reached out, lightly tapping Steve on the still-clothed foot. At that, Steve shot up, eyes alert and body ready for action._ Maybe not as heavy as I thought _, Bucky noted to himself._

_“It’s okay, it’s just me,” Bucky said, hands up in a sign of peace._

_“Bucky?” Steve said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “What time is it? Is everything okay?”_

_“Nothing’s wrong. It’s still night. I was wondering if I could join you. My tent is like fucking Siberia, and I can’t take it anymore.”_

_Steve took a moment to process his words before nodding and scooting to the side to make room for Bucky. Once in the tent, Bucky could instantly feel a change in temperature. It was like the air was made of different molecules than the rest of the world. He noticed absentmindedly that he had stopped shivering and his breath didn’t come out in white clouds anymore._

_“Jesus, Steve, did you smuggle a furnace in here or something?” Bucky commented. Steve just rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly._

_“Yeah, ever since the serum, I’ve run a bit hotter than normal.”_

_“A bit?” Bucky said, gesturing to his hands which had gotten back some color in them._

_Steve smiled and motioned for Bucky to come closer, laying back down and holding Bucky to his chest._

_“You know, I remember when this was the other way around,” Bucky noted offhandedly, rubbing small circled into Steve’s arm. Steve sighed at the memory._

_“I’m just happy to finally be returning the favor. You’re the reason I survived this long, Buck. I hope I get the chance to make it up to you.”_

_“You don’t owe me anything, Stevie.”_

_“I know, but I still want to take care of you. When I saw you on that table back at the HYDRA facility, I was ready to do anything to save you. I still feel that way. I know this ain’t exactly Brooklyn, but I love you, Bucky.”_

_Bucky hugged Steve tighter, breathing in the scent of Army-issued soap and pine. Even after everything he’s been through, Steve still smelled the same. Like home. Bucky felt a tear fall down his nose and drip onto Steve’s shirt, but he did nothing to wipe his eyes._

_“I love you, too, Steve. Always have, always will. ‘Til the end of the line.” Bucky looked up at Steve whose eyes had been trained on the top of his head. Steve bent his neck to meet Bucky’s mouth with his own, their first kiss in what felt like years. With the rest of their unit constantly around, moments like these were hard to come by. Bucky remembered the nights before Steve had arrived. Nights spent tossing and turning in bed, searching for a warmth that would never come. Their first kiss was the most normal thing they had done since being overseas, and both men melted into the familiar feeling. Memories rushing back of times spent under the covers and against bedroom walls._

_Breaking apart, Bucky could see that Steve’s cheeks were wet too. He brought a hand up to dry the tears before leaving it to rest on Steve’s jaw, marveling in what the serum had done. Steve just looked at him like he was the only person in the entire world. Because right here, right now, he was. Bucky and Steve were exactly where they belonged. In the middle of Italy, in the winter, in below freezing temperature, together._

***

“Девять.” _Nine_.

The stranger was going faster now, spitting the foreign words out with increasing vigor. Bucky had lost control. His only coherent thought was _I need to get out of here_. Adrenaline coursing through his body, he hit the glass barrier again as his mind conjured up another vision.

***

_Nine. Bucky and Steve had only kissed nine times. Ever since that miraculous day in Steve’s bathroom, they had resigned themselves to only touch one another in the privacy of their own homes. Unfortunately, both boys still lived with their families, and had very little opportunity to be alone together. To Bucky, it seemed as though the universe was trying to send a message. Since he first kissed Steve, Bucky felt like he had seen his best friend less and less in these past months._

_When they weren’t at school, Bucky and Steve would walk to the nearby park just so they could be in each other’s company for a little while before going home to cooking mothers and screaming siblings. Steve was braver than Bucky. Walking down the street, he would glance behind him, making sure that they were truly alone, and then pull Bucky into a deserted alley and shove him up against the wall. It was all Bucky could do to not melt right then and there with Steve’s mouth on his neck, his shoulder, his lips. But fear overrode love and he always managed to shove the other boy off what felt like seconds before a woman would walk by with a stroller or a busboy would enter the alley to take out the trash. Steve would just chuckle and say, “come on, Buck, let’s get out of here,” but Bucky always had to take a second and settle his heartrate. Walking down the street, he would tell himself that they’re just two guys walking together. There’s nothing wrong with that. But he couldn’t escape the feeling that someone was watching him. Waiting for him to slip up, to touch Steve’s hand or hug him for too long. Steve tells him that there’s nothing to worry about, but Bucky still finds himself counting the steps between him and the front door of his apartment where he knows his family will all be asleep and he can sneak Steve into his bedroom._

_And yet, despite the constant paranoia that seems to plague his every waking moment, Bucky lives for those stolen moments with Steve. As few and far between as they may be, it is in Steve’s arms that Bucky is happiest. When they’re lying in bed, legs tangled together, hands roaming, Bucky can’t help but wish that they never have to leave. He wishes the whole world would just go away, leaving them to love in peace. He voices his desires to Steve, but the other boy just smiles and kisses him until Bucky loses count entirely._

***

“Доброкачественный.” _Benign_.

With each word, Bucky strikes the glass. Over and over and over again, he hits the enclosure until he’s sure that his arm is going to fall off. Each strike sends a jolt of vibrations up through his arm and into the cavern of his chest where the metal stretches underneath his skin. His whole top half aches and his head is killing him. It doesn’t even catch him off guard this time when he feels his mind slip away from him.

***

_He had been walking down the street, on his way to the store to buy some candy for him and Becca, when he heard a muffled shouting and the sound of scuffling feet coming from the alley nearby. Picking up the pace, James approached the entrance, peeking his head around the corner to see what the commotion was. At the end of the alley, amongst the garbage cans, three boys were leaning over another boy, pummeling him. From what James could see, it wasn’t a fair fight. The kid on the ground had to be at least eight or nine years old. These kids were easily fifteen or sixteen._

_James hesitated to intervene. He had promised his mother not to get in any more fights. He had a history of picking a fight with anyone who even dared to make fun of his name. But he knew how to hold his own, and James reasoned that his mother would commend him for sticking up for a little kid._

_Stepping lightly to avoid being heard, James launched himself into the alley, flying at the boy in the middle who seemed to be doing the majority of the beating. At thirteen, James wasn’t much as far as muscles and height go, but with enough momentum and adrenaline, he could knock even the biggest person off his feet. With a kick to the knees, James sent the first bully sprawling. The other two swiftly turned around, wondering what had happened. But James was faster. He sent a punch to a nose on his right and kicked a stomach on his left. The first kid was back on his feet by now and James tackled him to the ground, wailing punches into his stomach and chest until all three bullies were running out of the alley, holding broken noses and clutching bruised guts. James wiped his bloodied hands on his trousers and turned around to help the victim up from where he had remained crouched in the corner for the whole fight. The first thing James thought was_ wow, this kid is tiny _. With little to no muscle, the boy on the ground was as thin as a stick. His face was bruised, and he had a cut on his lip that was dripping blood onto his shirt. Blond hair was slicked back with sweat._

_“Here,” James said, offering his hand to the kid. “Let me help you up.”_

_The stranger just dismissed his hand with a wave and shakily got to his feet. He couldn’t have been less than a foot shorter than James._

_“What was that all about?” James asked._

_“Nothin’,” the boy said. When he spoke, James was surprised by how deep his voice was._ How old is this kid? _James wondered._

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Steve. Steve Rogers,” he replied. The name sounded familiar, but James couldn’t quite place it._

_“We go to the same school,” Steve supplied, having seen the confusion on his face._

_“I’m James. James Buchanan Barnes,” he said, trying to ease the tension._

_“I know,” is all Steve said. “We have homeroom together, remember?” James felt his face go red. Now that he thought about it, he does remember seeing a scrawny kid sitting in the back corner of his homeroom. But he sat up front, so they never spoke._

_“So, you’re pretty small for your age, aren’t ya?” James chuckled, changing the subject. It was a lighthearted joke, but Steve seemed to take it personally. A scowl set over his face and his eyes went cold._

_“I should get home,” Steve said, shouldering his way past James towards the street._

_“Hey, wait!” James called after him. “I didn’t mean it like that, I was just wondering what someone like you is doing getting beat up by a bunch of high schoolers.”_

_Steve stopped in his tracks, sighed, and said over his shoulder, “They were following this girl for a few blocks and wouldn’t leave her alone. Kept calling her names and trying to make a grab at her. Someone had to say something. Even if it’s someone like me.” These last words were said with contempt, a bit of pink spit flying out of his swollen mouth. James could tell that as much as Steve may talk, he wouldn’t hurt a fly unless that fly was hurting someone else. Deep down, this kid was the kindest soul he would ever meet, but his pride took the forefront in situations like this._

_"I can respect that,” James said, nodding. “But three against one ain’t exactly good odds. Couldn’t your friends have helped out?”_

_Steve lowered his eyes to the ground at this. “Maybe if I had any, yeah,” he said, barely a whisper. James made an ‘oh’ shape with his mouth and tried to change the subject again._

_“Do you need any help getting home?” he asked. This almost seemed to anger Steve more than the comment about his size. His blue eyes shot up to meet James’ with such rage in them that James figured he should probably stop while he’s ahead._

_“Or we could go get lunch at that place around the corner? They have really good fries there.” It was a peace offering. James bit his lip, hoping Steve would say yes._

_“Don’t you have to go meet up with your friends?” Steve spat back, clearly still angry._

_“I actually don’t have too many of those either,” James said, rubbing the back of his neck, embarrassed. “I was hoping maybe you would want to be my friend?”_

_Steve’s eyebrows shot up so high, James almost laughed. Steve was just standing there, his arms at his sides, blood drying on his chin. He probably thought James was making fun of him._

_“If you don’t want to, that’s fine. I just figured it might be nice to have backup when you get in another one of those fights—not that you’d need it, of course,” James added at the end, afraid of hurting Steve’s pride. It took a few moments, but eventually Steve nodded and said, “Sure, I could use a sandwich right about now,” as if it was the most normal thing to say in the world. And it was, because he had just made a friend._

_James smiled, walked up to Steve, and slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him out of the alley and towards the corner diner. They were a sight on the streets of Brooklyn; Steve with his bloodied face and James with a shit-eating grin, but neither of them cared. This was the start of something great._

_“Can I call you Bucky? James seems so formal,” Steve asked._

_“Ya’ know, my little sister calls me that, too,” Bucky said, chuckling._

***

“возвращение на родину.” _Homecoming_. 

The stranger was going faster now, each word flying out of his mouth like a knife straight into his temple. Bucky could barely breath. He was pounding at the glass desperately, tiny cracks appearing where his metal fist impacted. It felt as if his whole life had led him to this one point. Breaking out of this glass and metal box. He squeezed his eyes shut in a vain attempt at quelling the pain behind his forehead. But instead of black, Bucky is met with the vision of a familiar metal room and a concerned face.

***

_“Sergeant. 32557…” The words were automatic, spilling from his mouth the second he heard the door open and footsteps approaching. A figure appeared at his side, larger than the doctor who normally assessed him. Bucky lay stock still, afraid of what might happen if he were to turn his head to get a better look._

_“Bucky? Oh, my god,” a familiar voice spoke, using his name rather than his rank or number. Bucky saw the stranger move out of the corner of his eye and felt the straps binding his legs being ripped off, but he just stared at the ceiling, out of focus. It wasn’t until the figure came back into view and tore off the straps around his chest that he spared a glance. The room was dark, but he would recognize those features anywhere. Sky blue eyes, red lips, blond hair._

_“Is that…?” Bucky managed to croak out, his throat refusing to let any more sound out, but the stranger seemed to read his mind._

_“It’s me,” he said. “It’s Steve.”_

_Bucky couldn’t believe it. For a second, his mind raced, trying to remember where in the world he was. Europe. Italy. The war. So, how could Steve be here? And why did he look so different?_

_“Steve?” Bucky asked, incredulous. Steve just put a hand on either of his shoulders, helping him up and off the table._

_“Come on,” Steve said, clearly out of breath._

_“Steve,” was all Bucky could say. That name was like a prayer on his lips._

_Facing Bucky, Steve took a moment to assess his friend. Bucky’s face was bruised and dirty, he stood hunched over, holding onto Steve for support. Steve reached out and caressed the back of Bucky’s neck, briefly squeezing before dropping his hand. His face was a map of worry._

_“I thought you were dead,” he exclaimed. His every word was dripping with relief._

_“I thought you were smaller,” Bucky shot back. It was both a joke and an observation. Steve used to be a head shorter than him, and now Bucky found himself tipping his head up to meet his best friend’s eyes._

_An explosion sounded from behind, alerting Steve. Bucky glanced past his friend’s shoulder, expecting to see an entire army charging at them, but the room was clear._

_“Come on,” Steve said again, more rushed this time. He looped an arm around Bucky’s back, half dragging, half carrying him out of the room. Bucky’s legs had all but given out under him and it was all he could do to shuffle them behind his body._

_“What happened to you?” he asked when they started moving._

_“I joined the Army,” Steve clipped back, traces of that familiar sass in his voice._

_“Did it hurt?” Even in the face of death, he has Steve’s wellbeing in the forefront of his mind._

_“A little.” Bucky could tell that Steve was lying through his teeth, but he didn’t have enough energy or time to argue._

_“Is it permanent?”_

_“So far.” And with that, they’re on their way, running and limping through the burning factory._

_It took them five days to walk from the HYDRA facility back to camp. Five days of sleepless nights and lumbering marches through the Italian countryside, hiding from German troops and sleeping against trees. When they finally reached camp, five miles from the German front, Bucky felt nauseous as the soldiers lined the road, clapping and cheering them on. A female British officer met them at the entrance, and Steve exchanged pleasantries. Bucky eyed Agent Carter with curiosity, but Steve seemed to trust her. He found his heart dropping at the look in Steve’s eyes directed at the pretty agent._

_Later that night, after the partying, Bucky found himself trudging through the mud back to his tent. Well, not_ his _tent. His entire unit had been presumed dead and their gear was no longer at camp. Instead, he shares a tent with Steve. It’s a tiny thing, barely big enough for the both of them—especially now that Steve is three times larger than normal—but it’s a barrier between them and the elements. Bucky sighs as he walks through the flaps and plops down on his cot. It’s a relief to be away from all those people, smiling and drinking and yelling. Ever since being captured, he’s found that he much prefers silence over the cacophony of his fellow soldiers._

_Not even a minute later, the flaps to the tent are pushed back again and Steve walks in. He smiles at Bucky, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Steve is just as tired as him. Bucky nods in greeting, playing with the edge of his shirt._

_“I didn’t think you’d be turning in so early,” he says, implying Steve’s relationship with Agent Carter._

_“Yeah, well, I’ve only gotten five hours of sleep in five days, so…” Steve says back, words slurring a bit as he lies down on his respective cot. He puts his arms behind his head, turning to look at Bucky, who is still seated._

_“So, the serum didn’t make you invincible. That’s good to know,” Bucky smirks. Steve just huffs, too exhausted to laugh. He led their entire company of men from Kreuzberg and took watch every single night. The man needed sleep._

_“You just gonna sit there and stare at me all night?” Steve says. “I know you’re exhausted, too.” He was right. Bucky had taken watch with Steve every time. If he were to tell the truth, Bucky was afraid of going to sleep. The things that he sees behind his eyes every time he blinks is enough to keep him awake for the rest of his life, however short that may be._

_“I don’t think sleep’s gonna be very easy tonight,” Bucky admits, looking down at his shoes. He’s embarrassed to be the weak one in this moment, but he knows Steve won’t make fun of him. In fact, Steve does the exact opposite._

_“If you want, we can push the cots together. Do it like old times…?”_

_“Like old times?” Bucky asks, looking up to meet Steve’s piercing eyes. Even in the dark, he’s the most beautiful person Bucky has ever seen. “You mean…?”_

_“What, did you think that this new body means I don’t feel the same about you?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised incredulously. “If you still feel the same, Buck, so do I. Nothing’s gonna make me stop loving you.”_

_Bucky melted. In a flash, he was on the other side of the tent, hugging Steve with all of his remaining strength._

_“God, Steve, I missed you so much,” he breathed into Steve’s shoulder. He could feel tears escaping his eyes and falling onto the material of Steve’s shirt, but he didn’t care. His own shoulder was growing wet from Steve’s tears as well._

_“I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost you, Buck,” Steve whispered. He was stroking Bucky’s hair, just like he used to do. In this moment, Bucky truly appreciated Steve’s new bulk. Hugging Steve used to be like hugging a small child. But now, it was like being enveloped by a giant bear. Large arms encircled his waist and held him close, applying pressure in all the right ways. Bucky felt like he could breath for the first time in months._

_Pulling back just slightly, Bucky caressed Steve’s jaw before tilting his head up and capturing Steve’s lips with his own. Steve responded immediately, surging forward to press their faces together. His hands snuck underneath his shirt, running along the smooth skin of his abdomen. Bucky could feel fingers exploring the new scars he had earned while captured, and he sucked in a gasp of air every time Steve found one._

_“I’m so sorry I couldn’t get to you sooner, Buck,” Steve whispered against his lips._

_“It’s okay, Steve, I’m okay. Please, just kiss me.”_

_At that, Steve leaned back and flipped them, so Bucky was laying on his back with Steve towering over him. Steve eased down to rest on top of him, kissing every bit of exposed skin he could find. Neck, shoulders, wrists, hands, ankles. Buck felt himself melting into the cot with every blissful touch of lips on skin._

_Later, after what felt like a lifetime of relearning each other’s bodies, Bucky lay in Steve’s arms, finally asleep. Finally, home._

***

“Один.” _One_. 

Bucky could feel himself slipping away, everything he’d built up these past years being chipped away by the Soldier. He knew the stranger was almost done. One more word, and he would be lost forever. Who knew how long he would be under HYDRA’s command this time? With every impact of his fist on the glass, he absently wondered what they were going to make him do. Would he be forced to kill again? Or did they just want him under their control so they could exterminate for once and for all. Was this the day that he finally died? A spiderweb of cracks was sprayed across the glass, spreading out from the epicenter of his fist. His body ached from the effort, but his mind was on autopilot. Nobody could stop him now. With the next word out of the stranger’s mouth, Bucky’s wonderments melted into another memory.

***

_“Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.”_

_Bucky had gone to the Smithsonian briefly before fleeing the country after the incident on the Potomac. He had worn what felt like ten different layers of clothes and a baseball cap that shaded his face from view, but despite the disguise, Bucky’s arm hair stood on end as he felt eyes pass over him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was under surveillance. Like there was a HYDRA agent lurking around the next corner, waiting to pounce. Walking through the exhibit, Bucky could feel traces of memories tugging at his mind, demanding his attention and scrutiny. As much as he wanted to stop what he was doing and write everything down, Bucky kept moving, gazing at displays and listening to audio recordings detailing the life of Steve Rogers._

_He had decided to visit the Smithsonian because he wanted to remember Steve. After their fight, every bone in his body ached for the other man. He knew that Steve was special to him, but he didn’t know why. Glimpses of memories would flit past his eyes, but he needed to know the whole story. Standing in front of the display of mannequins all wearing their old war uniforms, Bucky felt a pull in his chest when he saw his old Army jacket—well, a recreation of it. His fingers itched with the urge to take it off the display and slide it over his shoulders, to feel that familiar fabric on his skin. But before he could make another move, Bucky heard his name being spoken behind his back. Wheeling around, he was met with a picture of himself and a short caption detailing his life and contribution to the war._

_Reading the placard, Bucky’s mind raced as it processed the information. He didn’t know how he knew, but he had a strong feeling that what he was reading was wrong. For starters, they got his birth year wrong at the top. He was born in 1917, not 1916. Reading further down, Bucky’s head throbbed as he grasped at memories that seemed to pass through his mind like water. He read the words “Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor” and felt his body tense up. That’s wrong, too: he didn’t enlist. He was fucking drafted. Any idiot would know that by looking at his serial number. Bucky took a step back, placing two fingers on either side of his temple and pressing in to try and dispel his headache. How did he know all this? Bucky felt lightheaded, and he stumbled toward the exit and toward his reprieve, unconscious of the stares he got as people shifted out of his way._

_Once outside, he plopped himself down on a bench, holding his head in his hands. The pain had faded now, but he still felt like he was going to pass out any second. Memories came rushing back to him, images flashing through his mind. Reading the newspaper headline declaring war on the Axis powers. Sitting with Steve on their couch and listening to him talk about enlisting. Opening their mailbox and pulling out the draft card with his name typed in bold letters at the top:_ James Buchanan Barnes _. Sitting on the roof of their apartment building, watching the sunset with Steve and clutching that card in his hand, trying to drown his sorrows with whiskey. Bucky saw it all as tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Of course, he hadn’t enlisted. How could he leave Steve, or his parents? He remembered the words the Smithsonian narrator had spoken: “Best friends since childhood… inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.” Even without thinking about it, Bucky knew that that was an understatement. He and Steve weren’t just friends. They were brothers. They were partners. They were—_

_What were they? Bucky knew something was missing. Something about those memories had an underlying feeling that filled his chest with warmth and left a residual burn. He missed Steve more than two friends miss one another. He missed Steve like a lover. Every bone in his body seemed to call out to the other man. But that can’t be right. Right? All Bucky knew for sure was that lovers or not, Steve had always been the one constant in his life. Even when he was miles away in Europe, or under HYDRA command, Steve had always been there, lurking in his mind, providing comfort. Steve was the only one who knew what to do when he got in one of his moods, or when he shut down completely. And Bucky was the only one who could talk Steve down from doing something stupid like storming another HYDRA base on his own. Even when Bucky had fallen, Steve had been in the back of his mind, searing the image of blue eyes and blond hair into his brain. Even when he had no one, Bucky had Steve._

***

“Грузовой вагон.” _Freight Car_.

With that final word, Bucky felt the glass give way as the door to his mobile prison was ripped off its hinges and flung across the room. Falling to his knees on the ground, Bucky let his head hang, hair blocking his features from the stranger who had walked around to his side. Bucky’s chest was heaving, pulling in air by the gallon and pushing it out in short gasping breaths. His metal hand was planted on the ground, keeping his balance. A strange sensation passed through his body. All at once, he felt as vulnerable as a blade of grass in the wind and as invincible as a solid pillar of steel. Almost like a finale to the show, his mind supplied him with one more memory before leaving him altogether.

***

_“Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?”_

_“Yeah, and I threw up?”_

_“This isn’t payback, is it?”_

_The air was freezing cold, and their breaths came out in puffs of white cloud. Zip-lining onto the train, Bucky could feel the wind stinging his exposed skin as it lashed at his body._

_The fight inside was intense, hiding behind crates and shelving as he fought to get back to Steve, to help him._

_“I had him on the ropes,” Bucky said after shooting his target._

_“I know ya did,” Steve said fondly as the sound of a weapon warming up emanated through the train car._

_Steve barely had time to lift his shield before he was propelled backward by the blast, his shield falling at Bucky’s feet. A hole had been shot into the side of the train, air pulling at Bucky’s uniform. Bucky picked up the shield, shooting at their attacker twice before another blast was shot his way, hitting the shield and sending him careening out of the train. The only thing stopping him from falling to his death was a single guard rail that wobbled dangerously, threatening to detach altogether. The wind whipped at his hair and his hands were sweaty on the metal railing, trying to find a good grip. He saw Steve climb out to him, reaching out a hand and yelling for him to grab on. He lunged, trying to get closer to Steve, but that small shift in weight was all it took for the railing to give out and Bucky felt the_

_whole_

_world_

_drop_

_With a strangled shout, Bucky registered that the train and Steve were growing further and further away, but his eyes didn’t see it. Somehow, Steve was still in front of him, hand still outstretched, tears and disbelief in his eyes. His last thought before he hit the ground was simple:_ I love you, I’m sorry _._

***

The Asset stood, shoulders squared, and face set in an unreadable mask.

“Солдат?” The stranger said, uncertain. _Soldat_. His name, his rank, his identity. He was nothing more than a soldier, a tiny pawn on a giant chess board. 

“Я готов отвечать,” he replied, cold, void of emotion. _Ready to comply_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked it, please leave comments or kudos :)
> 
> (also, I don't know how to indent on Ao3, so there are parts that are indented, and parts that are not. I have no idea how this happened, but if anyone has any advice, it would be much appreciated)


End file.
